Guilty Conscience
by lefcadio
Summary: Daisuke x Ken, post 02 ending. Ken's always just wanted to be normal, and Daisuke knows he's anything but.


It's dark. The wind is cold, whipping at his jacket and tangling his hair in front of his eyes.

_Why?_

The question has been running through his mind for the past hour; an unwelcome mantra which pains him, sits uncomfortably under his skin, determined to plague him until he can come up with an answer. But if there is one, it's currently an incomprehensible mystery, and the nagging question remains.

_Why am I here?_

The park is barely lit; a few tall, faint lamps glow softly in the gloom, but the pathways are shrouded in shadow, and the trees reach out their bare, skeletal arms as though to grab at the scarce stars which speckle the clear night sky.

It's December, and the sharp chill of the breeze is dusted with the beginnings of snow. Of course, snow never _really_ settles here in the center of Tokyo; the pollution, constant traffic and crowds see to that. But in the parks, perhaps, a light, almost pathetic covering might be persuaded to stay.

He shivers, but the chill which runs down his spine has little to do with the temperature. The gravel underneath his feet crunches, sounding ridiculously loud in the silence and emptiness. He hasn't been here in a long time - he tries not to disturb the memory, but it comes unbidden; it's been twenty years, almost to the day.

_...**Is** it to the day?_

The thought unsettles him, and he buries his hands even deeper into the pockets of his coat. He shouldn't be here, he knows that. He shouldn't be ignoring the phone which is now vibrating in his pocket, crying out with an anxious call wanting to know where he is, what he's doing. He shouldn't be making his way forward, towards that particular tree, or clenching his fists in nervous convulsions.

Because he's not nervous, he's angry. Or so he tells himself.

He crosses over that familiar, small wooden bridge--

(but it's been so long; it shouldn't feel this much like coming home, should it?)

-- and comes to a standstill, frozen. The thin stream runs quietly beneath his feet, like liquid black crystal, flowing over grimy rocks or whatever obstacles stand in its way. The bridge creaks, and he jumps, sensitive to even the smallest noise or rustle from the undergrowth.

With a sharp intake of breath, he suddenly notices a glimpse of movement beyond... that tree...

He doesn't know why, but he carries on walking though his legs feel leaden. His phone is vibrating again, and he absently reaches into his pocket to turn it off, gaze still fixed upon the movement underneath the shadowy boughs of that tree.

He stops, and wraps his coat around himself tightly, and his eyes widen as a figure begins to emerge. There's no flash of lightning, or heavy clap of thunder, and for some reason the shadows barely fall upon his face at all.

"...Daisuke."

His voice feels distant, detached, as though it's coming from someone else. He can hardly stand to see that smile; it appears as soon as he voices the name, and then they're moving closer - walking to stand until they're only mere inches apart.

He can see his quickened breath forming a pale cloud in front of him; Daisuke's is as well, and he can see them merging, mixing in the cold air. It makes him feel slightly sick.

He can see that Daisuke's gaze is fastened on him, scanning him avidly, searchingly, for all those small changes that the last few years may have brought. And there's a painful lump in his throat, because there's a part of him that wants to do the same.

"...Ken. I wasn't sure you'd actually come." Daisuke's trying to keep his tone neutral, but Ken can hear the suppressed emotion behind it, _knows_ that it's not in Daisuke's nature to contain it. Knows it better than anyone.

"I..." His voice dies in his throat as he realises that Daisuke is taking his shoulders, gripping them in those strong hands -- and no, no, he can't have this!

"--I don't love you anymore, Daisuke. I've never loved you." His voice is cracking, and he knows he's contradicting himself, but Daisuke's lips and eyes and hands are _right there_, and it's hard, so hard--

Daisuke's eyes should be losing their brightness, shouldn't still be gazing at him like that, and he shouldn't still be trying to manoeuvre Ken around, to try and press him against the thick trunk of the tree. But he is, and he's somehow succeeding, and there's an awful sense of deja-vu which stabs at Ken's heart like an icicle.

"No..." His faint protest dies on his lips as Daisuke steps back for a moment, and his expression is lit by a stray shaft of moonlight, threaded among the dark branches.

"Ken... why are you here?" Daisuke's asking the question Ken was dreading; the one he still doesn't even know the answer to himself.

He doesn't want what Daisuke wants, he _doesn't_ -- he never did -- (though it's hard to tell himself that when he's standing here, and the memories are flooding back like a dam's been unblocked) -- and Daisuke's watching him like that; open and yearning, and utterly non-judgemental.

"I..." He feels lost and bewildered, and like a teenager again. "This isn't okay." He tries to make it sound final, permanent; but his voice breaks before he finishes, and there's an infuriating half-smile tugging at Daisuke's lips.

"Ken..."

And then Daisuke's moving forward again, and all of a sudden Ken finds that he _is_ pressed up against the tree, the hard knots digging into his back and shoulder blades , and that shadowed, achingly familiar face buried in the crook of his neck. He breathes shakily, heavily, and sends thanks to a deity he doesn't even believe in that it's dark, for with the shadows comes some kind of shield from the cleansing light of day. This hasn't happened in... so long... he'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel so dirty, so sinful. And now, so guilty as well.

Daisuke's warm breath is ghosting up his jaw line, and in the back of his mind all he can see is Miyako smiling tiredly and telling him it's time for dinner; their three children, squabbling and laughing over some toys on the living room floor.

But then there's a tongue, and all he can think of is Daisuke, and he hates himself for it. Miyako -- Miyako is love, and caring, and chaste embraces in the light, and normal. Daisuke -- this -- is need, and hot, and desperate kisses in the dark, and perverse. He groans and fumbles with Daisuke's shirt, slipping his cold hands beneath the fabric to be met with scalding bare flesh.

Ken hates admitting it - can barely bring himself to think it - but he wants it. He wanted it when they were seventeen, and scarcely knew what they were doing. He wanted it several years later, when they'd broken up and Ken and found his 'true' love with Miyako. He kept it buried; kept it lodged down within him like the Dark Spore; dormant until he was no longer in control.

But then Daisuke's pulling back and grinning at him, eyes shining darkly, filled with desire, and Ken knows it's unfair to think in metaphors such as those. Daisuke is fire, and warmth, and need and _want_ -- and, beyond the heavy, aching, permanent guilt -- there's a sense of comfort and _rightness_ which begged to surface.

It's not to be, though, and Ken knows this; they both do.

He tangles his fingers in Daisuke's short hair, tugging him close and biting on the other's lower lip. There's panting and fervent kisses, and Ken hardly notices when Daisuke pulls him out of the shadows, intent on taking them elsewhere.

Daisuke's apartment is large but messy, though neither notices and the lights remain off. It's eerily silent, and Ken's thankful for the darkness as they fuck on Daisuke's bed, his arms braced against the headboard, tears leaking down to fall upon the pillow below him.

He gasps, shuddering when it's over, and lies there draped beneath that warm, careless embrace. Daisuke never notices the tears, and Ken doesn't want him to. This is only a temporary respite; a mistake; one more time that Ken knows he just wasn't strong enough.

His present is Miyako; their children. He wants to believe that Daisuke is just his past; a smudge before he settled down with his normal family. But it's not true; he knows that Daisuke is his life; past, present and future, and as much as it causes the guilt to eat away at him, he knows he's not strong enough to change anything.

He lies there, awake in the darkness, listening to Daisuke breathe, and his hand tightens involuntarily over the arm beside him. Things are the way they are. Tomorrow, he will get up before Daisuke awakes, and make his way home. He'll soothe all of Miyako's concerns about where he was and what he was doing, and soon things will be just as they were.

But somehow, he knows that when he weakens; when he breaks and can't take it anymore, he'll do as he did this time, and the times before, and make that call again.

He doesn't even think about what he'd do if one day, Daisuke didn't answer.


End file.
